


(i'm gonna pop your) bubblegum heart

by idolrapper (wonwoo)



Category: GOT7
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Begging, Boys in Skirts, Consent Issues, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Mildly Dubious Consent, Overstimulation, Panties, Pegging, Rimming, Safeword Use, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonwoo/pseuds/idolrapper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jinyoung pats her thighs, <i>come sit on my lap</i>, beaming like she knows exactly what’s going through Youngjae’s mind.</p><p>“Don’t make that face,” Youngjae deadpans, unbuckling his jeans, “It’s creepy.”</p><p>(Alternatively, pegging and feelings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(i'm gonna pop your) bubblegum heart

**Author's Note:**

> based on [explicit/nsfw] [this comic](http://cute-blue.tumblr.com/post/136725693676/right-so-because-ive-been-too-busy-with-various) by cute-blue! it's super cute and worth the download ♡

On New Year’s Eve, in the dead of winter, Youngjae walks home. Snowflakes tickle his cheeks like Jinyoung’s eyelashes in the morning. His humming along to old school Super Junior is muffled through his face-mask, and the egg-yolk yellow scarf Jinyoung finished knitting for him last week is winded around and around his neck, leaving only his eyes visible, watery from the cold. 

Jinyoung had presented the scarf to Youngjae when he came home from work, knitting needles stuck in her loose bun, both hands wrapped around Youngjae’s upper arm as she eagerly waited for his verdict. 

Youngjae pries her off him, a finger at a time, and unfurls the scarf. The bottoms drops, several meters of it, gathering at his feet like Rapunzel hair. 

“It’s long,” he says, looking between the scarf and Jinyoung. 

She grins, reaching over to pinch the shell of his ear. “Gotta keep my baby warm, don’t I?”

“Don’t call me your baby, noona,” Youngjae groans. He shoves his face into the cable-knit, smothering his whine. “It’s weird.” Suddenly, he’s stumbling backwards, back hitting the wall of the hallway.

Jinyoung places her palms over Youngjae’s hands, fingers slowly pulling the scarf up like she’s lifting water from a well. The fabric brushes between her bare legs, rising until it’s a bundle against Youngjae’s chest.

“It’s not weird,” Jinyoung finally retorts. Youngjae squeaks, when she licks along his jaw in that kittenish way she likes to do; she finds Youngjae’s reactions to her jokingly meowing in the middle of sex an absolute riot. “You’re fun to embarrass,” Jinyoung will say, “You’re responsive.” And Youngjae will counter, blushing, “Don’t act like you’re not into it too. You’re a grade A freak, noona.” 

So, he almost bites back, _it’s always weird_ , until Jinyoung gets this hilariously serious pout on her face and declares, “I’m your mom,” in English. And well, Youngjae doesn't want to hurt her feelings, no matter how much he’s joking. God knows he’s done enough of that. 

Youngjae groans again in reaction, and bulldozes the scarf into her stomach. 

Jinyoung retaliates by pressing harder, practically immobilising him against the wall. Youngjae’s hair chafes uncomfortably against the peeling paint and his face probably feels like an open flame to touch. Jinyoung tugs his piercing-less earlobe between her teeth, a hand coming up to cuff itself around one of Youngjae’s wrists.

“I’m going to tie you up with this scarf,” Jinyoung whispers, a smirk playing on her mouth, “and not let you come until you tell me you like it.”

 

 

The scarf is a blessing, Youngjae has to admit now. He walks briskly down the street, desperate to get home, his heavy boots thumping loudly against the pavement with every step. Jinyoung promised him a night-in with cheesecake, the entire Fast and Furious series, a reluctant gaming session in which Youngjae will inevitably beat Jinyoung’s ass, and lots and lots of sex. He’s so excited. 

“Do you want to fuck me or do you want me to fuck you?” Jinyoung had asked. In retrospect, having three of Jinyoung’s fingers up his ass probably tainted Youngjae’s answer a little. Jinyoung never played fair. 

“Huh?”

“On New Year’s Eve. Our anniversary.”

“Oh, can't I have both?”

“No. Pick one.”

“That’s unfair!” Youngjae complains. The pads of Jinyoung’s fingers tickle his prostate, teasing. He gasps, eyes fluttering shut. The room is dead silent until Youngjae breathes, “I want you to fuck me.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jinyoung smiles. Her fingers slip out of Youngjae, knuckles catching deliciously on his rim. He sniffles. _Click_ , goes Jinyoung’s harness.

 

 

Youngjae’s phone buzzes, and he painstakingly removes his hand from his coat pocket to read the message from Jinyoung: _hurry up, i have a surprise._

 _i’m hurrying_ , he shoots back.

_faster_

_that’s what she said_

_no_ , Jinyoung replies, probably smiling to herself, _that’s what u say._

Youngjae flushes instantaneously. It’s not like he isn’t used to it, he is. It just feels surreal, sometimes, when Jinyoung teases, that his girlfriend fucks him. And he likes it. He really fucking likes it.

 

 

When Jinyoung says she has a surprise for him, he expects to open the front door to a recurring scene: 

“God, it’s freezing outside,” Youngjae comments, shucking his coat off with a shiver. “Is your car fixed yet?” 

Jinyoung is sitting on the couch, neck twisted so she can smile at Youngjae. “Not yet,” she sighs. A drama, that one Yugyeom is obsessed with, is playing on the TV, and that’s how Youngjae knows she's only pretending to watch. He narrows his eyes, and she lights up. “Let’s cuddle, sunshine, I’ll warm you up.”

Youngjae hums. “Okay.”

He kicks off his shoes and wanders over to the couch. Jutting out from Jinyoung’s lap is her cock, the aqua-coloured one this time. It’s on the thinner side of her collection, but curved in a way that the flared head reaches Youngjae’s prostate every time. Jinyoung pats her thighs, _come sit on my lap_ , beaming like she knows exactly what’s going through Youngjae’s mind.

“Don’t make that face,” Youngjae deadpans, unbuckling his jeans, “It’s creepy.”

Fifteen minutes later, Youngjae’s face is squished into a floral cushion, eyes welling up. His jeans are bunched around his knees and Jinyoung’s forearm keeps his thigh held up so she can fuck into him from the side in shallow, unbearably slow thrusts. “Do it m-more,” he babbles. 

Jinyoung’s fingers dance along the underside of Youngjae’s thigh, and she leans over to coo, “Do what more? Words, baby.”

Youngjae’s tongue darts out to lick up the salty tear that rolled down his cheek. He’s so warm now. “Harder, harder _please_.”

She slams into him, sounding unfairly unaffected when she says, “Good boy.” On the TV screen, someone dies.

 

 

What actually happens when Youngjae opens the front door:

He unwraps his scarf, takes off his coat and shoes, and calls out Jinyoung's name. The flat is dark, which is unusual. Maybe Jinyoung popped out for takeaway or something. He flicks on the lights in the lounge room and—"SURPRISE!"

Youngjae screams. Someone grabs his waist and he reflexively smacks them in the nose. He stumbles back and another person—Jinyoung, it's Jinyoung—cups his face, giggling, "Calm down, Choi Youngjae."

Youngjae laughs breathlessly, letting out a final shout of frustration. "What the fuck is going on."

"For one," a voice says from behind Jinyoung, "You're a big scaredy cat. Worse than Jackson."

"Hey!"

"J-Jaebum?" Youngjae says. Jinyoung steps aside, and Youngjae sobs, rushing into Jaebum's arms. "You're really here?" She really is—smelling like too much Chanel No. 5 and Mark and those pink musk sticks she likes to chew on. 

"I'm really here," Jaebum whispers, kissing Youngjae's cheek. He feels someone tug on his hand, pulling him out of Jaebum's grip. 

"Hey, bitch," Mark says, grinning. She gives him a one-sided hug, rubbing the side of her face against Youngjae's.

"Fuck you," Youngjae laughs. "Missed you, noona."

"What did you say?" Jaebum says. She's dyed her hair a deep red and cut her bangs short since Youngjae last saw her, and her pinched eyebrows look comical. The piranha face, Jinyoung used to call it. 

"Ma-keu," Youngjae replies immediately.

Mark nods, blinking innocently. 

"I'm still here, you know," Jackson complains, head tilted up and blood trickling down his philtrum. Jinyoung's eyes go wide and she rushes to his side, muttering _oh my God_ under her breath. 

“Hi, Jackson hyung,” Youngjae says. “Thanks for coming.”

“Happy New Year,” Jackson sniffs, letting Jinyoung maneuver him onto the couch. Yugyeom and Bambam are here too, making like they’re preparing snacks and drinks in the kitchen, but really seeing who can blow a glittery party horn the longest. Bambam is keeled over, sucking in air, while Yugyeom strokes his back.

“I can’t believe you did this,” says Youngjae. Jinyoung half-straddles Jackson’s lap, skirt riding up her thighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a tissue. “Quiet night-in, huh?”

Jaebum slings her arm around Youngjae’s neck, trapping him in a headlock. “Ungrateful brat.”

“I’m seconding Jaebum unnie,” Jinyoung says. “I know you hate surprises, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Should’ve seen your face.”

“You’re mean,” Youngjae laughs, throwing his head back. Jaebum’s got a hand digging into his side, in this sensitive spot between his ribs. “We’re still—playing—FIFA—right?”

“You call the shots, babe.” Jinyoung shrugs, hopping off the couch. She gives Youngjae a peck on her way to the kitchen. A moment later, they hear a yell from the kitchen, "Hey! Why are the M&M's on the ground?" 

"It wasn't us," Bambam and Yugyeom chorus. 

Youngjae flops on the couch next to Jackson, patting his knee sympathetically as he turns the TV on. Mark is on Jackson's other side, and Jaebum sits next to Youngjae, a handful of crisps in her palm that Youngjae periodically steals from over the next twenty minutes.

“When did you get back, noona?” he asks. 

“Last night,” Jaebum explains, “We did a good job keeping it hush hush, didn’t we?”

“I had no idea,” Youngjae admits. “How long are you staying for?”

Jaebum left for Los Angeles with Mark four months ago, after Mark got an internship and Jaebum was accepted for a year-long exchange program over there. Youngjae didn’t know the whole story but he knew Jaebum missed home like crazy and was trying her best to keep it together for Mark and their relationship. They were pretty lucky, in the end, to have everything fall into place like it did. To end up in the same city, to be with each other through it all. 

“Only a week,” Jaebum says with a thin-lipped smile. She props her feet up on the coffee table, hooking a thigh over Youngjae’s. She holds his hand, thumb skimming across his knuckles. Beside them, Mark and Jackson are chatting away like one would expect reunited best friends to. And suddenly, the entire situation—Jaebum and Mark being here, Jinyoung getting the gang together for New Year’s Eve, the fact that, in this moment, he’s loved Jinyoung a whole year—is so overwhelming that Youngjae tears up, mouth trembling. 

He squeezes Jaebum’s hand, tipping his head so his tears travel back into his skull, hoping she won’t notice. But she does, of course she does, laughing, “Choi Youngjae is crying! Ah, look at you, still a baby.”

“Noona,” Youngjae whines, batting Jaebum’s hand away. Jackson pulls Youngjae’s head against his chest, cradling him. “I just—I just missed you all, okay?” he mutters into Jackson’s shirt.

“I’ve been here,” Jackson points out.

“Shut up, hyung.” Youngjae reaches up to smack his chest. “You know what I mean.”

“Ouch,” Jackson groans. “You wound me.”

“I try.”

 

 

Back in Youngjae’s first year, he’d kind of hero-worshipped Jaebum. She was the RA of his dorm and, he begrudgingly admits, stopped him getting beat up within his first week of university. It wasn’t his fault—sure, he tried to get a rise out of those guys, but they’d called him weak, a _girl_ , and well, only one of those was an insult. He was strong. Jaebum didn’t seem to think so, at least not when he was cornered into a brick wall, bruised and bloodied. She rocked up with her metal ears and leather jacket and deadly glare, and told them to fuck off. That’s it, she told them to fuck off, and they did.

“I think I love you,” Youngjae had breathed, staring at the two dots above Jaebum’s eye as she gingerly cleaned up the cut on his cheekbone. 

“Don’t love me,” Jaebum replied. “You’ll only get hurt.”

“You sound dangerous. Like a vigilante.”

Jaebum fixed him a dry look. “No, I just like girls.”

“Oh,” Youngjae said, “You’re the first lesbian I’ve ever met. Maybe. The first lesbian I know is a lesbian?”

“Welcome to higher education, kid,” Jaebum declared, looking vaguely amused as she stuck a pink band-aid on his face. “Stay outta trouble.”

 

 

Jinyoung brings over what she could salvage of the M&M’s—Jackson proceeds to shove his entire hand in the bowl—and the other snacks. And the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol. She’s sitting on Youngjae’s lap, chanting, “Fight, fight, fight!” while Yugyeom and Bambam roughhouse in the middle of the living room, the coffee table haphazardly pushed to the side to create a makeshift fighting ring for them. 

“Should we stop them?” Mark whispers to Youngjae, “Should we stop…” She points her thumb at Jinyoung.

Youngjae laughs. “She said the maknaes need to resolve their feelings.”

Jaebum joins the conversation, mumbling, “Jinyoung thinks everything can be solved through sex.”

A metre away, Bambam pins Yugyeom against the fluffy rug. Yugyeom sneezes in Bambam’s face (“Ew!”), head defeatedly sinking back onto the ground. Jackson roars, sticking his palm out for Jinyoung to throw a fiver into.

“How did the twig get so good?” Jinyoung grumbles, tightening Youngjae’s grip around her waist.

“The twig is offended,” Bambam scoffs, rising onto shaky legs.

“You’re cute, Bambi,” Jinyoung says, making a slicing motion across her throat at Yugyeom. Yugyeom holds his palms up in surrender, and it’s only an hour into Tokyo Drift that he admits he let Bambam win.

Jinyoung smirks, her thumb rubbing her index and middle finger in a _cough up_ gesture. Jackson reluctantly hands the note back, and Jinyoung folds it, turning to Jaebum and sticking it in the breast pocket of her t-shirt. 

“Most things _can_ be solved through sex,” she whispers.

 

 

Jaebum and Jinyoung have a complicated relationship. They dated in their last year of high school but broke up on fairly amicable terms once they started university. 

“We were in love,” Jinyoung told Youngjae. She was spooning him, a hand combing through his hair. “It wasn’t meant to work out.”

“We were too young,” Jaebum told him. Her head was in his lap while she read a book of poetry. “It wasn’t meant to work out.”

 

 

The third time Jinyoung fucked Youngjae, she made him beg for it. She made him cry. It was hot, until it wasn’t—his teeth clenched around the fabric of a pillow, so tight his jaw hurt, his ass in the air, brought to the edge again and again. He blurted out the safe word, _bubblegum_ , and the second Jinyoung slipped out of him, he scampered to the bathroom, locked himself inside, and sobbed into his knees.

“Youngjae,” Jinyoung calls out through the door, voice gentle, “Youngjae, I’m sorry.”

“I want my phone,” Youngjae sniffles, “I want to talk to Jaebum noona.”

There is a long pause, and Youngjae hears Jinyoung shuffling away. A knock on the door. He opens it a crack and takes his phone, staring at his softening cock instead of Jinyoung’s eyes. 

“I love you,” Jinyoung says, as he goes to shut the door.

Youngjae nods, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He slumps against the door, sliding to the tiles, and dials Jaebum.

 

 

The fourth time Jinyoung fucked Youngjae was a month later. They'd talked about the sex, multiple times, before Youngjae opened himself up, and Jinyoung let herself in again. They were both hesitant. Jaebum had been an immovable cock-block between them after that night, and Youngjae missed Jinyoung so much. He missed kissing the cat whiskers around her eyes that looked like they'd been painted with a fine point brush when she smiled. He missed her breasts pressed up against his chest, her small pink nipples impossibly sensitive to touch. 

Youngjae needed it, being taken care of like that, but he shouldn't have rushed into it in the beginning. Jinyoung, pretty, unattainable Jinyoung, and her slick hot-pink dildo, the thick elastic bands framing her hips; they'd been new and flashy and everything he never knew he wanted. But—it took a while for him to realise he wasn't weak for it. That Jinyoung only meant well when she loomed over him and whispered praise about how good he took it, how cute and needy he was, how he didn't need to be embarrassed, you don't need to cover your face Youngjae-ah, you're the prettiest boy in the world. 

"She loves you," Jaebum had muttered into his hair, when he curled up in her bed, eyes bloodshot, "Remember that. She won't hurt you, I won't let her. But you need to set boundaries now." 

"But I don't know everything," Youngjae said.

“So, that’s why you talk. Jinyoung is a lot more experienced now but she doesn’t know everything either.” Jaebum squeezed his waist. “We did things we regretted back then. We had fun. You’ll figure it out together, yeah?”

Jinyoung is exceedingly soft with Youngjae, apologetically so, mouthing his cock through his lilac lace panties. She didn’t ask him to wear them. He wanted to surprise her, he wanted to give her a sign that he was okay. He wanted her to praise him. Her eyes had widened when she unzipped his jeans and saw him straining in the underwear. She dug the heel of her hand into her clit and released a shaky breath. “Youngjae…”

“Do you like it, Jinyoung-ie noona?”

“Yeah.” Jinyoung grinned, slithering down the bed, a snake after its prey. 

She’s suckling on the head of his cock, her mouth a blotchy red, and scissoring him open. The panties are on the floor. He’d momentarily grappled with the idea of asking Jinyoung to gag him with them but he figured if Jinyoung didn’t suggest it, they still had a way to go. What Youngjae didn’t realise at the time was that Jinyoung was only waiting for him. 

Her motions are paced and attentive. She lets Youngjae tug on her long hair, pulling her mouth onto him until she’s gagging slightly. She pulls away to quietly tell him he can fuck her mouth if he wants. “I-I’m going to come if you,”—her slick fingers rub insistently against his prostate—“keep doing that,” Youngjae slurs, head thrashing against the pillow.

Jinyoung rests her bottom lip against his cockhead, and his hips jerk up. “Do you want to come? You can.”

A minute later, a strangled noise bubbles its way up Youngjae’s throat and his cock sputters into Jinyoung’s mouth. The aftershock dissolves in his veins, and like soda fizz, it goes sort of flat after a moment. Then, Jinyoung’s curling around him, nuzzling into his chest, muttering _sorry sorry sorry_. 

He kisses the top of her head. His tongue unsticks, and he whispers, “I love you too.”

 

 

Half an hour before the countdown, Mark and Jaebum open a suitcase full of gifts. Jaebum gives Youngjae a self-help book and a ring; a thin sleek black band that she slips onto his index finger. When Mark hands Youngjae an oversized jumper, grey to match her orange one, Junior smacks her arm, whining, “You stole my present!”

The pout doesn’t leave Jinyoung's face until Youngjae reassures her a dozen times that yes, he really does love the couple sweaters she’d knitted for them; ‘J’ on hers, ‘Y’ on his. Honestly, Youngjae expected something raunchier from her, maybe the cock ring she’d been threatening him with lately or a knitted skirt or another vibrator because the other one is on its last legs. The sweaters are cute.

 

 

It had a good run, that vibrator:

Jinyoung’s parents had this flat in Seoul that Jinyoung never bothered moving into because she wanted to have the full university experience, shared dorm rooms and all. But a month ago, she and Youngjae unanimously agreed it was too much of a hassle sneaking around, fucking against scummy shower walls when Jinyoung or Youngjae’s roommates were in, trying to keep _quiet_ and then coming up with excuses for the harness Jinyoung kept leaving on the floor (“It was _one_ time!” Jinyoung retaliates. “I told him it was for yoga, noona,” Youngjae sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “And he asked if he could borrow it.”) So, they moved in together and christened the place immediately.

Jinyoung models her brand-new baby pink tennis skirt in the full-length mirror. It hasn't yet migrated into the bedroom, and next to it, is a sea of unpacked cardboard boxes. She turns to Youngjae on the couch and twirls. “Like it?”

Youngjae gulps and doesn’t say a thing. A mistake, in retrospect. She comes over to him, and swings a leg over his lap, placing his hand on her thigh. 

“The skirt turns you on, doesn’t it?” Her hips rotate as she asks this, and really, what did she expect.

“I’m like a Pavlov’s dog,” Youngjae says, under his breath.

“You know what Pavlov’s dogs are?” asks Jinyoung, sounding genuinely surprised. Youngjae gives her a look, and she smiles again. “Do you,” her finger crawls up Youngjae’s arm, “want to try it on?”

“The skirt?”

“Yes.”

Youngjae glances down at her lower body, imagining how the fabric would look on him. His thighs are softer than hers, less toned, and dotted in moles. He sucks in a breath. “Okay.”

“Well, you can’t today,” Jinyoung says. She climbs off his lap and unzips the skirt. It pools around her feet. She hasn't got any underwear on. “I have to wash it first.”

The next morning, after Youngjae tries to surprise Jinyoung with pancakes but can’t figure out how to turn on the stove, Jinyoung smears his mouth in red lipstick, pushes his stomach into the counter, and flips the hem of his skirt over. Youngjae can’t see what she’s doing but it involves the vibrator, her tongue and his ass, and it feels out of this fucking world. His forehead knocks against the wooden cabinet when Jinyoung shoves the toy in as deep as it can go and licks around his rim. Youngjae can feel her dribbling, all filth and noisiness, and the minute she gets a mouth on his perineum, fingers tickling his balls, it’s over. 

Youngjae spends the following three minutes wiping come off the kitchen counter, resisting the urge to whip Jinyoung’s leg with the tea towel when she sits next to the flaming stove, sticks two fingers into her mouth and wolf-whistles.

 

 

“A year, huh?” Youngjae yells over the crackle of fireworks. They’ve all bundled onto the balcony, shouting the countdown in unison.

“Aren’t you meant to kiss me now, Choi Youngjae?”

Youngjae laughs, grabbing Jinyoung’s hand. He places a palm on the small of her back, dips her and plants a wet smooch on her mouth. She tastes like jelly shots and dark chocolate and the New Year. 

“A year,” Jinyoung echoes, when he lets her go. A red and gold Catherine wheel bursts in her irises. “A year.”

 

 

Their first meeting went like this:

“Hey, an Iced Americano to go please.”

Youngjae reads out the price, droning, and holds out his palm for the coins. 

Jinyoung fumbles with her purse, huffing as her hair whips her face. She drops the coins into Youngjae’s hand, one by one. Youngjae turns to the coffee machine. Jinyoung calls out, “Wait!”

“Yes?”

“Um, could I get a date too? I think you’re really cute and if I’m not mistaken, we have some mutual friends and—”

Youngjae turns around again, stage-whispering to the manager, “I’m being sexually harassed by a customer.”

“It’s not like that!” Jinyoung objects, face colouring. 

Five minutes later, her flabbergasted expression turns into a smile when she reads the message written along the side of her cup: _i’m free friday, park jinyoung. i think ur cute too, even tho jaebum likes to curse ur name sometimes._

 

 

“I want to ride you,” Youngjae drunkenly whispers. Jaebum and Mark are sleeping in the spare room next to their bedroom, so they have to be quiet.

“Yeah?” Jinyoung says, tossing him the lube.

It’s sloppy and rushed, the prep, but Youngjae can’t find it in himself to care about the pain tomorrow, not when he needs Jinyoung in him _today_. Well, technically, tomorrow is today, but semantics can be thrown out of the fucking window when Youngjae can’t even _think_ past the inebriated haze in his brain, alcohol sloshing against his skull; can’t even feel anything apart from Jinyoung’s synthetic dick splitting him open, her hands gripping his hips as he bounces wearily on her. 

Tendrils of Jinyoung's hair cling to her damp, pink cheeks. “You’re so beautiful,” Youngjae sobs, right before his first orgasm surges through his body in hissing bursts. 

“That’s it, baby. You think you can come again for me?” Jinyoung asks, her fingertips hesitating around his cock.

Youngjae hums. “After I eat you out, noona.”

They manage to do both, in the end. Youngjae lies on his back, and Jinyoung shuffles back onto his face, spine arched as she bends over to take him into her mouth. Her hips jolt, and her clit throbs, all shivery hot, when he licks a broad stripe over her swollen, hot cunt. His cheeks are soaking. It only takes a few minutes of sucking on her clit, Jinyoung grinding back against his mouth, for her to come. Her spine curves in on itself and then goes taut, like a puppet being manipulated. She doesn't let up on Youngjae still, moaning around his cock as her frame spasms with the last few waves of her orgasm. 

“I _can’t_ ,” Youngjae mewls, blunt fingernails dragging along the flesh of Jinyoung’s ass.

Jinyoung is mouthing along the length of his dick, and she twists around, a hand on her hip. “You’ve done it before. I believe in you.”

Youngjae pouts, cock jumping in the fist she’d sneaked around it. “I could be doing this to you.”

Jinyoung rolls her eyes, bending over again, giving him a gorgeous, panoramic view of her ass, and says, “Happy New Year, Choi Youngjae,” before she takes his cock in her mouth and makes him come for a second time, like magic.

 

 

(“Say, do you have any other fetishes?” Jinyoung asks Youngjae one afternoon, breath skimming along the back of Youngjae’s neck. Youngjae is _this_ close to kicking Bowser’s ass, but being as jittery as he is, he yells, and drains his last life.

“Yeah, it’s kind of cliche but,” Youngjae starts, pausing the game when it revives him on the previous level. “Bondage?”

Jinyoung hums.

“But noona’s the one tied up.”

Jinyoung laughs, “I’d be okay with that. If it's with you, I’ll try anything.”

“Smooth,” Youngjae says, crinkling his nose.

Twenty minutes later, Jinyoung is curled up on the couch, hands and ankles bound in rope, a silk tie gagging her mouth. 

Youngjae rubs his hands together, smirking down at Jinyoung. “Let’s get started then.” He grabs the controller, plonking down on the couch in the concave of Jinyoung’s body, and unpauses Super Mario Bros. Jinyoung writhes against him, making indistinguishable noises through the fabric. He spares her a glance and the glare she gives him is so wounded and betrayed that he almost gives in, until Yoshi enters Bowser’s Castle on the screen. 

Youngjae turns back to the TV and laughs, resolve unbroken. “Sorry, Jinyoung noona, the only peach I need tonight is Princess Peach.”)

**Author's Note:**

> peggy's impact ♡


End file.
